


That You May Contribute a Verse

by fresne



Category: Dead Poets Society (1989)
Genre: M/M, Yuletide 2014, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 06:38:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2841632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fresne/pseuds/fresne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oh me! Oh life! of the questions of these recurring,<br/>Of the endless trains of the faithless, of cities fill’d with the foolish,<br/>Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I, and who more faithless?)<br/>Of eyes that vainly crave the light, of the objects mean, of the struggle ever renew’d,<br/>Of the poor results of all, of the plodding and sordid crowds I see around me,<br/>Of the empty and useless years of the rest, with the rest me intertwined,<br/>The question, O me! so sad, recurring—What good amid these, O me, O life?</p><p>                                       Answer.<br/>That you are here—that life exists and identity,<br/>That the powerful play goes on, and you may contribute a verse.</p><p>-Walt Whitman</p>
            </blockquote>





	That You May Contribute a Verse

**Author's Note:**

  * For [brampersandon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/brampersandon/gifts).



> O Me! O Life! by Walt Whitman

1959  
Todd was not invited to Neil's memorial. 

He was grounded and his parents spent the afternoon yelling, while his brother home from college told them to relax. They did not relax. They were never going to relax. It was odd. The more Dad went on and his Mom wondered why he couldn't be more like his brother, the lighter he left. As if he was a deskset thrown out into the night.

Later, he crunched out into the snow in the backyard. He had a candle and a piece of paper on which he'd written, "Carpe Diem." The paper didn't read that the Dead Poets each had an extra share of burden to burn extra bright, or at least that's how he felt standing in the snow setting fire to a piece of paper that burned too quick and floated light paper ash away. He wrote with stiff cold fingers on a fresh clean page as white as snow,  
"Yawp, Captain, yawp.  
Unsaid words to red glowing edges  
Float up into the Milky Way."

He was cold. He went inside.

1962  
The smoke in the Paris club was tar thick and burned as it went down. Todd sweetened it with a glass of absinthe and a drag of his own cigarette. The man in the silver beaded dress finished his torch song and went to collect a kiss from his lover, one of Ginsberg's crowd. Todd had gone there from time to time and had his sprawling picture taken.

Todd stepped onto the stage, cigarette still dangling, and put his glass on the table that was there for it. He said, "This is called Neil." He cleared his throat. "Snap, snap, crunch, crunch, the rose stem under virgin's heel, and Old Time he is pink lipped smiling. Hot blood, snap, snap, crunch, crunch, and today you are dying. Today you are dying." Todd took a sip of absinthe to calm the burn. It did not help so much as fed it. "Pop, snap, spray roses on the wall and burn the books gathered there. Dry petals melt into snow and beg forgiveness of those they have offended. We are only dreaming here. Today, you are dying."

Todd got his claps and snaps and went down to his solitary table. It was not solitary long. Todd took solace in a kiss from a stranger.

1968  
Todd lay loose limbed on the mat on the Ashram floor. Pink petals spiraled through the heat thick air from the Frangipani tree outside his door as chimes gently blew on the dense breeze. In a sort of heat haze, he whispered, "It's a healing wind to a parched land, blow on me."

His lover, Paolo, though once his name had been Peter, said, "It's too hot to be sad," and kissed his ear. 

But Todd clung to the sight of spinning petals and would not fall back into sleep. He whispered, "Seize the day, for time is flying."

"Hmmm…" hummed Paulo, and blinking sleep claimed Todd's eyes to dream of flowers under snow. 

1973  
Todd slid a finger down a smooth uncracked spine of a slender book of poetry. Not his words, but his work. Carpe Diem Publishing would never set the world on fire, but it was his work and his life and he loved every book they put out.

He laid it down on Neil's grave with a rose. 

Some of the other Dead Poets were there too. Hands in pockets and stamping at the snow to warm their feet. Knox read from "A Valediction Forbidding Mourning". Charlie mixed and matched some Byron. 

Todd read the, "I sing the body electric." He read rage against the dying of the light.

Afterwards, they went for a drink. Knox had to leave first. His daughter was going to be in a play. She was a goldfish at the Birth of Jesus. 

Charlie said, "We all have to start somewhere."

Todd didn't say much, but he was the first to arrive and the last to leave.

1986  
Todd had to admit to being terrified. Friends and old lovers dying all around him and that horrible preacher on the news saying AIDs was God's Justice. 

His Partner, John, could rant and rant and rant about that. Todd sat in his comfortable chair and wondered who wouldn't be there for their next Christmas party, or even tomorrow. He wondered with a cold dull prickle if he'd find a sore in his mouth some morning, or even worse Paul would. He read "Howl" and he read "Leaves of Grass". 

He sat in this comfortable chair and then he climbed on top of it.

Paul stopped. He said, "What are you doing?

"Trying to find another perspective," said Todd, his stockinged feet sinking into the cushions.

"Is it helping?" Paul put his hand on the Todd's leg.

Todd could see that there was dust on the top of the joke Carp Diem plaque on the wall. He thought awhile and said, "Let's put on a production of Midsummer's Night Dream in the park." 

John said slowly, "As benefit?"

"Yes, no." Todd shook his head and jumped down off the chair. "Because I am alive and I have a voice, and I want the world to hear it. That the powerful play goes on and I may contribute a verse. That the powerful play goes on and you may contribute a verse. "

"Okay." John kissed his cheek. "Then we'll put on the gayest Midsummer Night's Dream since Shakespeare."

Todd leaned his head on John's shoulder and laughed. It was that or give in to the fear, and when it came time to die, he wanted to know that he'd lived. 

2011  
Todd stood next to his husband. He hadn't thought that one word would mean so much. A word that wasn't supposed to apply to him and his love. Something he was never supposed to be. Until suddenly the world had changed, tilting on its axis.

In July, he'd wanted to get married right away and he'd wanted a big celebration before all the world. They'd settled on a November wedding. Tables full of their loved ones. The one table with its empty chair set aside for Keating. Given he'd been dead for ten years, Todd hadn't expected him to come, but Todd had long ago decided that if this day ever happened that there would be a chair for Keating at the feast.

John gave a beautiful speech that made Todd cry. 

When it came his turn, he pulled out a single sheet of paper. He could have printed the words, but he'd wanted pen and ink and white snowy page. He licked his lips and reminded himself he used to do this every night for strangers. He said, "This is one of my favorite John Donne poems. Eclogue for the Marriage of the Earl of Somerset." He sipped a drink of champagne, and began. "Now, as in Tullia’s tomb one lamp burnt clear Unchanged for fifteen hundred year, May these love-lamps we here enshrine, In warmth, light, lasting, equal the divine. Fire ever doth aspire, And makes all like itself, turns all to fire, But ends in ashes; which these cannot do, For none of these is fuel, but fire too. This is joy’s bonfire, then, where love’s strong arts, Make of so noble individual parts, One fire of four inflaming eyes, and of two loving hearts." He put down his page on their table, and said the only thing that mattered, "John, you've made and make my life extraordinary," and to the tapping of forks on glasses, Todd kissed his husband, and partner of twenty-four years and contributed a verse. They each contributed a verse.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out this [podfic](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3743065) that Rhea recorded.
> 
> If after reading my fiction here, you would like to read more about me and my writing check out my profile.


End file.
